Gypsy Child
by One Over Infinity
Summary: No ties, no land, no place to call home.  All she has to her name are her sharp wits, her skilled hands, and her wanderer's heart.  Semi-self insert pre-mass effect.  Rated T for mild language and combat scenes.
1. Wake Up Call

Gypsy Child: Chapter One: Wake Up Call

Bioware holds ownership over all included characters, settings, and plots involved from the mass effect universe. My OC, is mine.

-for future reference (while irrelevant in this chapter "" = dialogue '' = air quotes ;) -

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><p><em>Five senses: five different ways by which we regard the world. Touch, sight, sound, taste, and smell, interact within the human nervous system to create a sensation. However, in order to create that sensation, there has to be some sort of conversion: a method by which raw electrical impulses are formed into a coherent sense of, well, living. This method; this genetic algorithm, if you would, is instinctive, planted within our very DNA.<em>

It sure makes it a hell of a shock when it hits you without warning.

...

How, and where this all started, I couldn't even begin to guess. I simply had no context to put it in. I was lying on my back, eyes open, and considerably sore. The sky above looked rather... grimy, and from what I could feel beneath me, the ground was likely cracked and jagged. All together, the place didn't exactly amount to a great vacation destination. Little did I know how correct that first, and somewhat delerious realization was.

I remember groaning as I got up; I was stiff, and in pain, but the broken stone beneath me wasn't a prime example of comfort. Shaking my head as my body protested, I tried to sort out what was going on. Where was I? What was I doing there? Who was I?

That last question was the one that got me panicking.

...

The sky was definitely grimy. There was just no other word for it! It was streaked with dirt-filled clouds, and gave me the sensation of breathing in very, very old smoke. Perhaps though, I should say that the whole place was grimy. You could also call it a dump heap: your choice. The entire landscape was coated with varying types of rubble: Small items that may have once been kitchen appliances that got smashed into a pulp, contrasted with boulders which were over twice my size. It seemed like it -might- have been a city... once upon a time. But if that were the case, then I didn't want to meet whatever kind of thing that could cause this much damage.

But what was it that made me think this way? How could I recall what a city was, and what a ruin of a city might end up looking like, yet be completely unable to remember my own name! I had a name... didn't I?

...

Well fuck. After having determined that I was wasting precious daylight just sitting there in shock, I decided to take stock of myself. I had no noticeable injuries, though it felt like my back was somewhat bruised, my temperature felt fairly normal, my eyesight was fine, so it wasn't likely that I had a concussion, and I seemed to be all there. Well, excepting the memory stuff at least. Given, that in itself was somewhat disconcerting, but it wasn't the reason why I was swearing.

After having taken stock of myself, I had decided that I needed to find water, and hopefully some food. Shelter was a somewhat lesser priority, seeing as there was plenty of rubble within easy reach for me to cobble together. While I had seen tracks in the dust and grime which coated, well, everything, I hadn't yet encountered a potential meal. I had, however, found water. Sort of.

The water was just as grimy as the rest of this dismal place. It tasted literally like dirt, and it had a weird smell to it. If this was going to be my only source of water, then whatever god which may or may not exist in this universe truly wanted to fuck with me.

While I could have continued wandering throughout the expansive labyrinth of debris, the light was beginning to fade, and given the situation, it was likely best for me to keep the source of 'water' close by for the night. There was a corner of a building standing nearby, and what looked like a badly bent sheet of metal that I could attach to the top of it. Five star accommodations. Right.

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><p>AN: welcome to my story everyone *bows to the crickets*, please attempt to restrain your criticism to useful, constructive advice, as I would much prefer not getting flamed for my first attempt at free-writing in a depressingly long time.

To clarify a few points before they're asked:

- I have no idea how often I will be updating this: if things go well, then chapters shouldn't be too long in coming. (I just jinxed myself into writers block, didn't I?) say, two or three a month. But no promises!

-Don't worry. The main character will be getting a name in the next chapter, and I figure a description in the chapter after that. ;-)

-I apologize for my rampant use of commas; however, that is simply a result of the way I was taught to write. Sorry.


	2. Where's The Memo

Gypsy Child: Chapter Two: Where's The Memo

Bioware holds ownership over all characters, settings, dialogue, and events from the mass effect universe. I own my OC.

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><p><em>What exactly are dreams? Usually, dreams are our unconscious mind's way of analyzing and justifying the events of the previous day. In order to do this, the mind structures images, sounds, and personal knowledge into some sort of storyline. While this storyline does not usually make much sense, in this case, that is rather inconsequential. The point is that these images, sounds, personal knowledge, and context, must all come from somewhere. It makes sense that the brain would activate long-dormant memories, in order to construct a dream.<em>

So how was it that a person who couldn't remember her own name, was able to dream?

...

My eyes opened. I stared at the twisted sheet metal above my head as my brain tried to make sense of, well, whatever the heck I was just dreaming about. I felt as though snapshots of a hundred different impossible things had gone a parade through my head, and then continued on, leaving only garbage and scraps in their wake. Were these my memories? At the very least, they could've left some sort of pamphlet or instruction guide to explain what the heck they meant. I could recall running atop a gleaming city skyline, a burned out husk of a building with a shattered computer screen lying on top, a waterfall under a railroad bridge, and a stretch of hallway, made of metal, with a view of... earth? outside of the singular window.

Fucking weird-ass dream.

Well, there was nothing left to do but get up, and keep moving. Despite my protesting aches and pains, from lying on what essentially amounted to a particularly lumpy rock for the night, I made for the tiny creek, for an early morning 'drink'. Damn did that water taste awful.

...

It's amazing how a night's sleep, whether good or bad, can put things in perspective. Admittedly, part of that is simply the purging of adrenaline from the body, due to several hours of inactivity. Still, it was nice to wake up, get a drink, and actually be able to think about the situation.

Simply put: I was screwed. The water was impure, and it seemed likely that I would become sick in the following days, while my body tried to combat whatever contagions lurked in the muck. Beyond that, I had yet to spot any local wildlife, and the ruins seemed completely and utterly abandoned. There had been no rain that night, but the clouds on the horizon did not bode well, and my twisted metal roof likely wouldn't withstand the coming deluge. I was completely utterly lost, with no way of knowing where I was, and no idea how far, much less which direction, I would have to travel in order to reach civilization.

So what could I do? I had a source of running water, impure and contaminated as it may be. I had the clothes on my back (jeans and a loose black t-shirt, along with socks and runners) and plenty of available debris at my fingertips.

Hmm... Debris, eh?

...

The sun was well past the horizon by the time that I had finished cobbling together some 'weapons:' a walking pole made out of a mostly-straight piece of metal, and a knife, made from what may once have been a ridiculously large blender. Altogether, they were crude and unwieldy, but I felt a bit better carrying them. Maybe it wasn't the fact that I had weapons prepared; perhaps it was simply the fact that I was finally acting instead of reacting. Whatever the case, I was more at ease having them with me.

...

I set off downstream, keeping my water within sight at all times. Foul and wretched as it may be, my current situation did not lend itself to carelessness, and if any action were to be considered careless, it would be losing track of one's water supply.

As I was going along, I chose to occupy my mind with the two most important matters at hand. The first was to observe the occasional animal tracks, and attempt to determine the nature of said tracks. Were the animals carnivorous? Likely: there had been large claw-marks and gouges in the stones of the ruin. How large were they? Larger than I wanted to mess with. The size of the animals' paws measured to be larger than the palm of my hand. Either they were left by timber wolves, or wolverines which had been taking growth hormones. Neither option was appealing.

The second issue was one that had been troubling me from the first moment that I... well... gained consciousness doesn't do the experience justice. It was more like having perception pounded into your head with a sledgehammer; but I digress.

The second issue, was the question of who I was. The water was far too muddy for me to catch a glimpse of my reflection, yet I was near certain that I was a girl. A girl who was both familiar, and unfamiliar with ruins such as these, both at the same time. It was rather confusing really. I began chanting the alphabet: a trivial song taught to kindergarteners when they are first learning their letters. I hoped that by going through the song, I might be able to recognize my first inital.

A, B, C, D, E, F, G. H, I, J, K, L, M, N... M?

M felt right. A vowel would follow next then: Ma, Me, Mel! My name started with Mel!

I concentrated harder. The entire thing was longer than Mel. I was sure of that. But how did it end? I tested names while the sun passed its zenith, and started on its downward trip. None of the names I tried felt right. When I ended up trying 'Melkanev,' I stopped. This wasn't getting anywhere. Some part of me. Probably the part that made up my dreams from the night before knew what my name was. Guess and check simply wasn't going to work. I needed to ask.

So how the heck was I supposed to do that?

...

I took the opportunity to get a drink from the stream. Mud doesn't taste quite so bad once you get used to it. I mean, it still tasted horrible and made me want to chuck my guts, but it wasn't near as bad as the first time. Even while I was scooping the water up into my mouth, I pondered the question. How does one go about asking themselves a question, when they know the answer, but can't remember it?

Only one answer: Let it come to you.

I sat down in the meagre shade offered by a well-placed boulder. Deep breaths, let your mind wander, stop thinking. I said stop thinking damnit!

This wasn't working. I felt... Wrong. Unsettled. Tense. My mind was glued on my situation. Even my desire, my absolute need for my name was wrong. To find my name, I needed to find the context of my name, and my dreams, odd as they had been, assured me that I was definitely not in tune with... whoever I really was. My dreams had been a mosaic: shiny pieces of experience all mortared together with a sense of self; a sense of me.

I felt myself nodding off, as the shadow of the boulder I was leaning against grew longer. I decided to let it come. With any luck, peace could bring the answers that my questions could not.

As my eyelids grew heavy, and my slowing breathing deepened, it came to me. In that final twilight moment between consciousness, and the bliss of oncoming sleep, I found my name.

Melanos. Melanos Thea.

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><p>AN: Well that was a tad longer than I intended. Based off of my progress so far, I'd say that this fanfic is going to be quite a doozy when it comes to length. But I couldn't just leave it out, despite how much easier that would make things.

Side note: Thea is actually pronounced as They-uh (and no, this is not my real last name)

On another note, anyone want to guess what made the tracks? For that matter, does anyone want to guess where Melanos is at right now?

btw: thank you Stuch for the review!


	3. Apocalypse Now

Gypsy Child: Chapter 3: Apocalypse Now

Bioware holds ownership over mass effect and its resultant yadda yadda stuff. My OC is mine.

Empeorie: the amnesia is actually going to be explained, over time: it has to do with... well darn. I can't tell you, that would be giving out spoilers.

(A/N: just warning you, I got my numbers off of Wikipedia. This is not guaranteed scientific fact. Double-check with your biology teacher if you want something definite)

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><p><em>Frequency is defined as the number of instances that something occurs within a given amount of time. Sound, electricity, heartbeats, and even planetary movements all operate on a frequency. The frequency of earth's planetary rotation is one rotation per day, or 0.0000116 Hertz (cycles per second). An adult's resting heart rate is generally between 1 and 1.5 Hertz. Residential electrical sockets deliver current at a rate of 60 Hertz, and a human's ears can pick up sound waves ranging anywhere from 20 to 20000 Hertz.<em>

But when you can both hear, and feel a sound at the same time? Then it's time to wake up.

...

Growling? Nope. Thunder? Maybe... Hmmm... Nope. Hail?... Fuck.

There are some circumstances that are just too good to be true, and too fucked up to care at the same time. Waking up propped up against that rock was one of those moments for me.

I opened my eyes just in time to see an enormous craggy, fanged, clawed, vile looking beast the size of a freaking timber wolf go running straight past me. Cue Fear. Cue relief. Cue Dread. Cue turning of the head to find out what the heck something like That would be running away from.

Remember what I said about a great vacation destination? Fuck that. There was a literal wall of hail bearing down on me. Baseballs of ice were falling from on high with all the force of ragnarok. There was so much raw power involved that I would have laughed from exhilaration... if it weren't about to kill me.

...

I grabbed my knife in my right hand, leaving my walking stick on the ground, beside where my foot had been mere moments before. I was running before I even knew I was upright. Every instinct inside of me was screaming 'run, find shelter!'

While it's hard to measure time while your heart is pounding at machine-gun pace, you're running for all you're worth, risking life and limb manoeuvring about terrain that you would never dare attempt while in your right mind, and fighting the urge to look back over your shoulder to see if death really does look like the grim reaper, I'd say that it was probably a minute and a half before I found some viable shelter.

One problem.

It was already occupied.

...

Huddled in the half-collapsed basement of a giant stone building was the same creature that had run straight past me mere minutes before. My hesitation lasted about half an instant. I threw myself into the cover, knife blade in front of me, trading off guaranteed death by projectile ice, for likely death by combating giant fanged-dog-monster-thing.

Take what you can get, eh?

...

The creature paused for a moment as I crossed the threshold, obviously weighing between its desire to kill me and its fear of the impending natural apocalypse. As I passed completely into the relative shelter of the basement, its hesitation vanished. It leapt, fangs wide, towards me, giant, clawed paws forward, ready and willing to rend flesh from bone. I dodged at the last second, doing a sloppy combat roll off at an angle from my original attack. By the time I was back up, the beast had turned, and the storm had arrived. All sound was drowned out by the crash and reverberation of nature's unbridled fury.

Loud does not even begin to describe the sound. It was a combination of an earthquake, a tsunami, a fireworks factory going up in smoke, eighteen machine guns, and a few jet engines tossed in for good measure. I couldn't hear, hell, I couldn't even feel myself breathing. Both the dog-thing and I were reduced to crouching down, in order to steady ourselves from the violent shaking.

Now it just so happens that the creature's failed run at me, had left it right next to the entrance I'd come through. If I could just force it out of that entrance, then nature would do the work for me.

Yeah. Easier said than done.

...

The shaking hadn't lessened any, but both the monster and I had adapted enough to move, albeit slowly and cautiously to prevent from falling on our faces. It was slowly making its way towards me, while I was doing the same to it. I still had my knife, thank goodness, but I needed a plan.

Not that I could think of one mind you.

I was moving faster than it was. Perhaps it was the fact that I was used to balancing on two legs, while it usually relied on four. More likely, I was just the luckier of the two of us. I decided to fend off its fangs with my knife, and use the rest of my body to force it out of the entrance. Not the best idea, and I was bound to get pretty beat up in the process, but it left me... probably about a 12% chance of survival?

We reached each other; it tried to swipe me with one paw while balancing on the other three legs. I tried to duck beneath it, hissing as a single claw ripped its way across my back. I did a half turn, grabbing its leg just above the ankle, and forced myself towards the creature. I pressed my knife towards its face, hoping against all hope that I'd somehow manage to hold off its killer fangs.

Well lucky me. It worked.

...

The blade entered the space between two of its razor-sharp teeth, wedging in like it had always belonged there. Its other paw was now trapped beneath most of my body, no longer in a position to swipe. The first paw I held in a death grip out to the side, as my shoulder pressed into its neck.

And I pushed.

We were balanced, together on four feet. My feet planted at an angle behind me, and its rear paws desperately scrambling for purchase against the loose stone beneath its claws. I pushed it back. One foot, two feet, and then the knife slipped.

It was as if a red hot knife blade had been plunged into my right arm. I screamed, in pain, and shock, and fear. My legs pushed with a force I did not know I possessed, and my vision faded red. I could feel it trying to adjust its weight on the leg I still held in my left hand, I screamed again as its fangs released from my arm. Perhaps it yelped as it toppled over backwards. I don't know. But when my vision cleared, I found it lying on its back, with its skull smashed in, bleeding into the pile of hail mere inches outside the entrance.

...

Well... Sucked to be him.

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><p>AN: finally my first action scene. Leave reviews to let me know what you think!

note to self: writing action scenes and serious thoughts is very difficult at one a.m.


	4. Edge of the Abyss

Gypsy Child: Chapter 4: Edge of the Abyss

All rights to mass effect and its subsidiaries go to Bioware. My OC (D?) belongs to me.

(3 sources for point one, Wikipedia for point two)

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><p><em>The average adult human body contains approximately 5 litres of blood, when in a healthy state. In general, such a person would be able to lose up to 0.75 litres of blood with only minor side effects. However, when excess amounts of blood are lost, one would begin to experience more severe symptoms, including, but not limited to: dizziness, nausea, vomiting, blurred vision, rapid heartbeat, paleness of the skin, and potential loss of consciousness.<em>

Let's see... Check. Check. No thank goodness. Check. Check. Can't tell with all the dirt. And not yet.

...

As the pooling blood stained the hail outside the entrance of the basement, I slowly sank to my knees. The booming reverberations of the raging storm outside sounded as though they came to me through the end of a very long tunnel. Everything was blurring together, while the edges of my vision started to fade into black. I faintly realized that the adrenaline rush was fading, and that I should keep myself awake. I didn't care. I was lost to shock, and fatigue, and the burning wound in my right arm. I could almost hear myself at the end of that tunnel, shouting at me while the hail beat down, trying to keep me conscious. Innumerable things were said. In the space of a second, a minute, an hour, I don't know. But it was one thought that brought me back from the edge of the abyss:

Survival Dictates Action.

That one phrase was laced in context and memory that I couldn't hope to comprehend. It was cold, yet comforting. Philosophical and yet entirely practical.

I moved. Slowly. Using only my left arm, I peeled my t-shirt from my body, cutting it open with my knife near my shoulder, in order to prevent myself from exacerbating the wound. A stinging sensation rose from my back as I pulled the blood-soaked fabric away, reminding me of the swipe I had taken from the creature's claw. As it stood, there was nothing I could do about that wound, and it was not the most pressing matter at the time.

I wrapped the shirt around my right arm tightly, trying to move it as little as possible. In order to bind the cloth to my arm, I had to use my teeth to hold one end of the shirt as I tied it in place with my left. I could taste dirt, sweat, and the iron of my own blood on the fabric. While undoubtedly it was not the most sanitary method of dressing a wound, my focus was mainly on applying pressure, and preventing further bleeding.

Beyond that, I didn't know what to do.

With the wound on my arm tended, and the gash on my back unreachable, I had little else to do until the storm passed. With no small amount of dread, I gave into my body's incessant demands. 'Sleep,' it told me.

And I did.

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><p>AN: I apologize for how short this chapter is. However, considering what I've got planned for the next chapter, I figured this was the best spot to leave it off.

I'll try to update soon to make up for that. ;)

note: I searched up 'survival dictates action' to see if it was an actual quote, and I didn't get any results. As such, I have no idea whether I'm the one who originated it or not. I'd guess probably not, but I can't seem to find out who did. Oh well...


	5. Fight Or Flight

Gypsy Child: Chapter Five: Fight Or Flight

Bioware holds ownership over all mass effect characters, settings, and, well, the games themselves. I hold ownership over my OC.

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><p><em>What is it in us, which makes the decision to fight or to flee? Most would say instinct, being that one doesn't usually make the decision consciously; but why would instinct choose one over the other? The simple answer is input. Our instincts run off of our bodies' feedback: input, both environmental, and internal, is gathered by our senses. This input is quickly fed through our instincts, where a decision is reached, between fight or flight. While it is possible to override our instincts, through societal training, or merely willpower, in many situations, our instincts are the only things that keep us up and alive.<em>

Input: injured, trapped, cold, in the process of waking, danger nearby. Response: fight.

...

The hail stopped hours ago. Somewhere in the twilight of waking I realized that. The cacophony had faded away until it had disappeared entirely. There was a new sound now though, a rhythmic, heavy sound, from the direction of the entrance.

It sounded like footsteps.

My eyes shot open, as I awoke fully. I was lying face-down on the rubble-strewn floor of the basement, only a few feet away from the dead creature. The footsteps were close.

I levered myself up in a one-handed push-up, my injured right arm stiff and unusable after the long, cold night. Bringing my legs under me, I picked up my knife, now coated in flakes of my dried blood, and stood. Nausea clawed at my gut, and a headache began pulsing at my temple immediately upon standing; of course, my body would wait until then to feel sick. Fucking great.

The footsteps stopped.

...

I watched in fascinated horror as a gigantic hand reached from behind the corner, and picked up the dead body of the animal. I could hear a thud as the carcass was placed down again, outside my range of view.

And then, the hand's owner looked in.

...

I reacted by instinct. I daresay I let out a rather stereotypical aboriginal war-cry; the type that you hear so often in movies, but never in real life. I charged the creature, bringing my knife up from beneath its lizard-like face. Some part of me, in the back of my mind realized that this new creature was wearing clearly manufactured armour; however, with the beginnings of sickness churning in my gut, and the lingering drowsiness of having just awoken, I continued my attack unabated.

My knife met flesh, and cut in deep. The lizard-giant recoiled, whether in pain or surprise was uncertain. Unfortunately for me, my blade - improvised and imperfect as it was - caught itself in the flesh. I tackled the giant's waist, even as my knife was ripped from my grasp, held more firmly as it was in the meat on the underside of the creature's chin.

I daresay that my attack was nowhere near powerful enough to knock the giant over on its own, but nature chose to favour me. The instability of the hail underneath its feet, the solidity of the compact ground beneath mine, and the big lizard's evident surprise all worked together to topple it over.

I attempted to maintain my momentum, by combat rolling off of it, but I was grabbed before I could get even halfway. I screamed, as the creature's massive hand latched on to my injured arm. The world swam before my eyes from the incredible pain, before my vision regressed into darkness.

...

I woke, strapped down to some sort of bench. It was wide, and stiff, as were the straps that held me in place. There was a roof above my head, metallic, and surprisingly intact, and I could hear loud growling nearby. No. I shook my head to clear it, noting that both my nausea and headache were worse than before. That wasn't growling. That was the revving of an engine.

Okay... So. Apparently I was in an intact vehicle, strapped to a bench, most likely by the lizard-man which I had tackled. I was injured, mildly sick, extremely hungry, and rather thirsty as well. I had lost a lot of blood, and had sustained some rather horrific tissue damage to my right arm. I also had a wide-open cut across my back, which I honestly couldn't care less about, given the rest of my situation.

It didn't feel like the vehicle was traveling anywhere. The engine sounded more as though it was idling, and despite the roof, I could feel a slight breeze travelling past. That either meant that there were windows open, or that the door was. No matter, since I was completely unable to see either from the bench. However, despite my lack of a decent vantage point, I was still completely able to hear. As such, the heavy footsteps and the slamming indicative of a closing door did not go unnoticed.

I closed my eyes, and forced my breathing to slow, pretending that I was still asleep. Biting the inside of my cheek, I listened as something heavy got dumped onto the floor next to me, before the footsteps turned and receded away, likely to the driver's seat, or cabin, whichever it may have been.

Even as I cracked open my eyes once more, the idling engine began to roar, bringing with it the sensation of movement. I closed my eyes again, this time, not to fake being asleep, but to concentrate on not throwing up all over myself, as my nausea tripled. I was suddenly glad that I had ingested nothing but muddy water for the last three days, as any contents that my stomach would have held, would likely have ended up all over myself. Not to mention that may have resulted in my drowning myself with my own vomit. Ew.

...

For a person who was badly injured, and definitively sick, that trip was hell. Every bump in the road got amplified through the solid bench, straight into my head. Only by biting my own tongue until it bled, was I able to suppress the moans of pain which threatened to expose my awaked state. Any adjustment that I attempted to make to my position, caused blinding pain to shoot from my right arm. When one considers that I was doing my best to keep the nausea from flipping my stomach, as well as squinting out from between near-closed eyelids to determine where I was, and where the lizard-giant's vehicle was taking me, it was a miracle that I managed to stay silent, and unnoticed.

While my glimpses of the ceiling told me nothing, I was able to determine one rather important fact. The item that had been tossed down beside me, was none other than the creature which I had killed. Its scent was unmistakable. I had gotten a pretty solid whiff of it when I shoulder charged it, and the smell was likely etched into my subconscious, from the moment at which its fangs pierced my skin.

So the giant lizard-man had me tied to a bench, in a vehicle, with the monster I had killed lying unceremoniously on the floor next to me.

Which begs the question: What the heck happens now?

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><p>AN: Well bleh. This is virtually twice the length of the last chapter... And it's still kinda short. Maybe when I get some dialogue going, things'll fix themselves up. Possibly. Hopefully.


	6. Follow The Leader

Gypsy Child: Chapter Six: Follow The Leader

All rights to mass effect and its subsidiaries go to Bioware. Rights to my OC go to me.

-sorry it took me so long to update. RL has been busy... and sick... and overall uninspiring.-

-also... I just couldn't resist. This is by far my favourite intro to this point.-

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><p><em>Diplomacy sucks. As a vocal, stylized, overlong method of slowly, laboriously convincing someone else to do what one wants them to, modern diplomacy can in many ways be seen as a hindering force to society at large. However, diplomacy, with all of its rules, regulations, traditions, set standards, and, admittedly, second chances, does help to keep dictators and over-aggressive machismos out of power. On a more personal basis however, such guidelines and requirements are less imperative. In small groups, or between individuals, such compromises, arrangements, and so forth can be made much more simple and effective, merely by removing excess words. A nod can replace "I agree with the honourable representative from blah-dy-blah's viewpoint on this matter," therefore streamlining the entire process. As such, body language and sub-vocal communication - through eye contact, relative positioning and so forth- often make both 'diplomacy' and 'conversation' much easier.<em>

So when all else fails, resort to charades.

...

After what felt like an eternity of bouncing about with my guts doing the polka on top of a pair of unicycles, the motion finally stopped. My stomach lurched again with the sudden stability, much as one may feel 'landsick' when coming ashore after a long tour at sea. In the process of holding back another of my body's attempts to relocate my digestive tract, I forgot one important thing:

I was supposed to pretend to be asleep.

A shadow fell over me, and I squinted past the nausea to see the face of my captor glaring down at me. If I hadn't known better (or perhaps if I had) I would've believed he was smirking at me.

Realizing that my current state of awareness had been exposed, I steeled my stomach, and opened my eyes fully, glaring straight at the giant's face. He may have had me injured, captured, and unable to move, but I'd be damned if I was going to let him take pleasure in my pain. "What the hell do you want?" I asked. "You plan on standing there all day? Take a picture. It lasts longer."

My voice was raspy and dry, and the taunt came out far quieter and higher-pitched than I had hoped. Note to self: don't talk while injured, starving, and dehydrated; you sound like a little girl with pneumonia.

Perhaps what happened next could be explained by the absolutely pathetic, and mildly amusing nature of my confrontation. Maybe I just had a fever and couldn't figure out what the heck was going on; whatever the case, the lizard's response was not what I expected.

He laughed. Long and loud. Following up with some growling and deep booming noises that I could only assume were its language, it untied my bonds, allowing me to move again. I slowly rolled to my side, closing my eyes as a fresh wave of nausea consumed me. When they reopened, the giant had picked up the dog-beast and flung it over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He proceeded to walk towards the door of the craft, pausing at the entrance to look back.

The look he was giving me was clear as day: "you coming?"

...

Slowly, I pulled myself up into a sitting position. The lizard-man shrugged, and walked out the door, the head of the monster-dog swinging like a pendulum with his steps. Left alone, I tried to get up. Lean forward, extend legs while pushing upwards. Straighten posture at the same time. Do not puke.

My head was swimming just from standing. The pulsing of my headache had evolved into a full-blown roar. Gravity itself seemed to pitch and roll, trying to throw me off my feet. I pushed it all back. Breathing deeply, I lowered my arms. The roar dimmed a little, and up began to distinguish itself from down once again. I took one hesitant step forward, swaying uncertainly. Two steps, a little firmer. Another two steps, and I was at the door.

I stopped there, leaning heavily against the frame, gasping in harsh lungfulls of air. The simple act of walking had reduced me to the level of a land-based fish. There was no way I would be able to keep up with the giant; his enormous stride crossed twice the distance of my own, and he wasn't sick and injured to boot.

Looking out the doorway, I was graced with the site of... more wasteland.

Great...

...

Lizard-dude was getting impatient. He had stopped only a few metres away from the vehicle, and was obviously waiting for me. However, there was simply no way I was going to be able to follow him in my current state. But standing there all day wasn't going to do me any good either.

Screw it. I climbed out of the door on shaking legs, and braced myself on the side of the vehicle. Damn thing looked like a Tonka truck on steroids. With part of my weight supported on the chassis, I slowly made my way past the vehicles nose, wincing as my headache stabbed me in protest. I held up a finger as the giant made to come after me, scowling as I did so. "Give me, a fucking, minute." Remarkably, he stopped, and chuckled, as I made my way around the far side of a rather large boulder, where I promptly gave in to my body's demands.

I'm not going to describe the vomit of a person who has been living off of dirty water for days on end. It's gross, just trust me on that. Needless to say, I retched the meagre contents of my stomach on the ground.

Surprisingly, it made me feel better. As I stood there, one hand braced on a boulder, leaning over my own stomach contents, taking in as many deep breaths as I could, I actually felt better. My headache wasn't quite so sharp, my stomach had settled (having nothing left to complain about), and the movement had loosed some of the stiffness from my muscles. My right arm was still screwed, but even that didn't seem quite as bad. Or the blood loss had made me delirious, which works too.

With a firmer step, I turned and walked back towards my... guide. He was waiting there, arms crossed over his chest, grinning at me, the dog-beast hanging from his shoulder like a leathery shawl. I crossed the open space between him and the ship, stopping in front of him and cocking my eyebrow. "Something you want to say?"

Naturally, the only response I got was further rumbling and booming sounds. However, it did spur him onwards, and I took liberty to follow, steadily now, as he made his way through the rubble.

...

After about five minutes of navigating through the debris, we reached a large stone door, embedded in the earth. 'Stronghold' was the first word that came to my mind upon seeing it, and indeed, as the doors slid apart, I gazed into what truly would be considered a stronghold.

Turrets stood facing the entrance, and more lizard-men waited behind them, with guns drawn. The ceiling was made of a similar substance to concrete, and pillars supported it uniformly along its length. The walls were at least two metres thick, and though there was significant damage to the floor, there was no mistaking the fact that this place could take one hell of a beating. More so than that however, was the fact that within this fortress-garage-looking-space, there were dozens, perhaps even more than a hundred of the lizard-men. All of them wore armour, and there were only three that I could see who didn't have weapons. The fact that many of them were in the process of what looked like daily chores within their canvas lean-to's and tents did nothing to detract from the overall feeling of preparedness.

My guide walked past the turrets to 'speak' with the guards. While I couldn't understand a word that they were saying, that did not stop me from listening in. It was... interesting actually. Listening to their conversation, I began to hear distinct pauses and changes in tone. The pauses were likely to have been the slight halt between words that spoken language virtually requires. The changes in tone could have been either distinctions between different meanings of the same grunt/rumble, or simply vocal inflection. Which one was uncertain... and largely irrelevant too, but meh.

...

It was only a matter of time before they finished their conversation, and the guards directed their attention to me. I tucked my good arm behind my back, and cocked an eyebrow at them. Directing my gaze to the nearest one, I sneered. "You got a problem with somethin, bub?" Thankfully my voice was steadier, and a bit more normal sounding than my previous attempt at taunting the lizard-folk.

The guard shrugged and rumbled something, taking a single step to the side so that my guide and I could pass. I nodded to him in thanks as I walked by; judging by the expression on his face, he wasn't expecting that. However, his demeanour quickly shifted back from surprised, to stoic, and he nodded back.

...

My guide led me to a side-room, just off of the garage stronghold of what I realized was a much larger fortress than I had initially thought. Another lizard-man awaited us there (surprise, surprise), and he rumbled and boomed at my guide as we walked up to him. My guide lifted the dog-beast from his shoulder one-handed, and cocked his head to indicate me. They then began conversing in their language again, which left me quickly bored, and nervous.

There was no way to know what they were saying, but it obviously had something to do with me. The way my guide had gestured to me was clear enough. Was he simply explaining how he had found me? Were they going to kill me for killing the dog-thing? Was it something more innocuous?

No way to tell. And nothing to do about it either. All I could do would be to take whatever happened honestly, and with my head held high. So when the new lizard turned and started rumbling at me, I simply shifted my weight onto my right foot and tapped my earlobe. "You realize I can't actually understand a single word you're saying, right?" His brow ridge shifted slightly, and he turned to rumble at my guide again. My guide merely shrugged, which was obviously not the answer the other giant was looking for.

...

It turned its gaze back to me, and in less than a second it had reached out, and clamped its massive hand around my neck.

* * *

><p>AN: I expect that everyone has figured out by now what planet Melanos is on right now, and as such, I need to clarify one simple point. It's winter. I realize that the temperature is usually ridiculously hot, but it's winter okay?

In any case, read and review!


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